What If: Running Up That Hill
by virtualailee
Summary: What if Tony didn't join up with Steve and Bucky at that stronghold in Siberia? What if Tony did what a law abiding, Registered-Avenger should do - report his findings on Captain America's whereabout to the authority? With borrowed elements from 616!Civil War.
Steve was right all along. Again.

Tony didn't care much for the storm brewing outside of the pressurised cabin. His private chopper cut through those daunting dark clouds, high above chopping waves that stretched on as far as eyes could see. Just him and FRIDAY on-board for the occasion. Good girl was serving as both his pilot and personal assistant. The turbulence didn't bother him, already so engrossed with a holographic panel that was pulled out before him. Two windows of live-streaming news casted gentle blue luminesce on his hard-lined face.

"What's the latest crazy in town?" he muttered to the screen.

It wasn't any particularly high profile murder case either. He suspected it was something FRIDAY picked up on the local channel that didn't fall outright off his pre-set filters. His AIs were prone to mistakes like that – but they weren't coded to think within a given context, were they, because that was what an _actual person_ was hired for – but Tony wasn't quick to chastise FRIDAY just yet. This slip-off he found intriguing. A hotel maid discovered the decomposed body of a psychiatrist Dr Theo Broussard in a room rented by one Colonel Helmut Zemo. Pushing aside the imagery of decayed flesh sloshing around in a bath tub, Tony asked for the hotel's guest list and a profile on the Colonel. He doubted under the Accord he was ever privy to such information – Ross' severe mug flitted briefly through his mind – and he waited for FRIDAY to compile his answers. Two new panels soon flanked the existing one. Tony gave the hotel guest list a once over and understood that Zemo had been renting that fateful room for over a month already. He paid for everything in cash and the staff vouched for the _normalcy_ of his behaviours throughout, though it did strike them as odd that he never permitted housekeeping. He left without checking out – perhaps in a hurry – and everything was returned in pristine condition. For that the maid in-charge was grateful until she made her lifetime discovery in the bathroom.

Tony scooted over to the right, wincing as his ribs protested against the movement, and found himself eye to eye with a mugshot of the real Dr Broussard. He was an esteemed psychiatrist frequently commissioned to interview felons on behalf of the US government. In fact – and Tony's heart faltered at the revelation – Dr Broussard's assignment right before his murder was to interview the _Winter Soldier_ the soonest he was taken into custody. So Steve was right. Something was off. Zemo had his eyes trained on Barnes all along. He impersonated Barnes to blame the pandemonium in Vienna on the Soldier. _It worked all right_ , Tony thought darkly as his throat constricted uncomfortably. Zemo managed to flush Barnes out with the enthusiastic assistance of police and military forces worldwide.

God, they were all played like fools.

What did Zemo want from Barnes then?

FRIDAY alerted him of their impending touchdown. He peered through the rain-streaked window and saw the rooftop of the Raft breach the ocean surface.

Getting Steve and Barnes' whereabouts out of his former allies was the _easy_ part. If not for the bars holding Clint in his cell, chances are he'd have his face caved in before he could even say "traitor". No, Clint didn't touch him. He'd more or less denounced their friendship but Tony thought he could deal with that later. One day Clint would understand. Wilson though, Wilson asked about Rhodey and a small part of Tony ached with gratitude, but that too, should wait.

"Tell me where Steve is heading for. I have… information," and he flashed the holographic image of the dead doctor after jamming the in-house surveillance signals, "that suggests Barnes' innocence."

He walked out of the door with the coordinates and his back against his friends. Nobody was shouting at him anymore but the glare they were shooting him was unmistaken. Yet another piece of him died inside.

General Ross looked positively jittery as he paced the expanse of the foyer. What Tony wouldn't give to see the man sweat a little bit?

"Well?" the General asked testily.

This, Tony surmised, was the hardest.

"They're here."

He projected a virtual map from his watch, very much so like what he did for Sam. FRIDAY had already superimposed the coordinates with it, depicted as a secluded island in Siberia.

"What's in there?"

"I don't know." With a flick of his wrist, the map disappeared. "Look, we may be going about this the wrong way. Barnes is not the guy we're after. Helmut Zemo impersonated him to set off the explosion in Vienna. It forced Barnes out of hiding which led to his eventual capture, exactly as Zemo wanted."

"Whatever for?"

"I'm not sure yet. Information, most likely. And that's where Steve is heading. No, listen to me!" Ross had had enough of the speculations and made it clear that he was leaving. Tony sidestepped the General, preventing his escape and in the process successfully jarred his fractured arm. He bit back a hiss and saw Ross' eye flickered momentarily to his sling.

"You can't do this," Tony gritted out. "You have to give them a chance to prove their innocence!"

"I will afford them that chance, Stark. And if what you said is true, then justice will be served. But not by the hand of one man, and certainly not by Captain America. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then get suited. You're going to bring Captain Rogers and the Winter Soldier in on the initial account of obstruction of justice and facilitation of the escape of a wanted war criminal _in addition_ to racking up millions of dollars of damage at the Leipzig/Halle Airport. And take these men with you."

Ross gestured vaguely towards the far corner of the foyer. Tony looked up and saw a _platoon_ of soldiers – he assumed them as such – decked in high-tech suits armed to the teeth, ready to kill. A glimmer of pride showed through Ross' gray eyes.

"Top one percent of our military elites. Efficient. Lethal."

They marched towards the centre of the deck and saluted the General.

"Codename: Cape Killers."

Tony couldn't see past the heavily tinted helmets they were donning. But he did see his own face reflected off the surface and he knew that instance that he'd done it wrong again.

"I'm not bringing them with me. There's no need for extreme forces – for God's sake this is _Steve Rogers_ we're talking about!"

Ross had a smirk plastered to his lips. "36 hours, Stark. Or I'll charge you all the same." He left Tony with the Cape Killers, and Tony was so sure he could vomit what little breakfast he'd had that day when the man at the fore of the line-up suddenly said, "Rendezvous at the stipulated coordinate at exactly 24 hours from now. Suit up well, Mr Stark. It's going down nasty."

"Nobody's doing anything nasty," Tony snapped. "You sing backup when you have to. Leave Steve to me."

Tony stalked off to his chopper, already primed and readied by FRIDAY. The Cape Killers hadn't moved from where they stood, just watching him – he couldn't really tell when the dark visors were down – and the cold, dank feeling clutched at his core even tightly.

* * *

It hurt.

What didn't he know about Steve? He knew Steve loved his coffee black in the morning. He knew Steve had long conquered his fears for planes and icy water – a little trivia he shared after he found out about Tony's PTSD over the New York incident. Tony'd spent enough time hanging around Steve, fighting beside him. As a friend. As a brother.

Steve slammed him heavily into the concrete wall. The armour absorbed most of the impact but Tony could still _feel_ his bones rattle in his body. He hadn't even healed properly from Bucky's attack back at the terrorist holding centre. The bruises were still there – so were the cracked ribs. There just wasn't time for licking wounds and back to work it was, only to have more concrete collapse on top of him at the airport. Forget about the ribs; his shoulders were dislocated, his radius was fractured, he suffered multiple contusions over his upper body and he thought he'd tore a ligament or two in his feet.

He was so tired of fighting, but Steve was relentless. Unlike all those sessions in the gym, for the first time ever Tony found out how was it like to fight Steve when he wasn't pulling his punches. Every hit dented his suit. And just like how Tony knew which weak spots to strike, Steve knew Tony's too. By the time Steve flung him across the chamber and he smashed readily into the pillar, he could feel warm fluid cascade down his cheek.

He was so done with fighting, but he couldn't stop. If he couldn't bring Steve in, the Cape Killers would take over and that wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

"You sold us out, Tony!"

"I'm trying to help you." He didn't like how breathless he sounded. He flipped to his side, ignoring the flare of pain in the flank. Steve was glowering at him, eyes hard and fiery. Tony was sorry to see that. There was a time when he was on the ground, almost lifeless and Steve was the first to check on him.

Somehow, through sheer determination, he managed to clamber to one knee. His chest protested furiously, but he clenched his teeth and pushed on. "Come home, Steve. This is madness. We'll clear Barnes off his wrongdoings with proper evidence and witnesses before a committee, or a jury, or whatever they have in mind. It doesn't have to end this way."

"You cannot guarantee that."

"Damn right I can't! But you aren't helping much either! Please, listen to reason!"

Steve charged at him again, too fast for Tony to register. He tanked the knee to his chest, the kick to his stomach and the punch to his face.

The helmet cracked and started to give way.

The HUD flickered in and out of focus. He had his back flat on the ground again with Steve straddling his sides as the super soldier rained punches after punches around the helmet. He felt as helpless as he did with Ross, with the government, with the UN. He never could imagine _fearing_ Steve.

Then Steve emerged right before his eyes, in flesh and blood. The world opened up around them as the broken Iron Man helmet was forcefully torn away from his face. Tony looked at Steve, _really_ looked at him and almost begged for him to listen and understand. But he knew Steve, and he knew Steve would have none of it.

Then he raised his shield above his head, poised for the final hit.

Tony knew he'd never reach Steve.

When the shield came down, Tony instinctively held his arms over his forehead. It wasn't exactly the most dignified way to face incoming death – the edge of the shield collided and dug deep into the heart of his suit. No amount of anticipation could ready him for the lightning hot agony that coursed through his body when Steve smashed it squarely through the arc reactor. Beneath the suit he knew he was quaking in waves, and he knew his eyes were wide open – _blown out_ as wide as they could go – but all he saw was black. His suit was nothing more than scrap metal with the arc reactor destroyed. But it was OK, it wasn't life support. He wasn't dependent on it, not anymore since he'd gone a hundred percent organic not too many years ago. And Steve knew that.

So why was it impossible to even draw the next breath?

Tony choked. Something was pooling in his throat and he gagged. He tried to turn to his side but whatever the last blow did had effectively paralysed him. He couldn't move, couldn't see, couldn't _speak._

"Tony?"

He closed his eyes. It felt as if he was dying.

"Tony!"

Something huge plopped ungraciously beside him. He mentally felt hands all over him – the suit, because he couldn't actually _feel_ those hands. On a better day he'd ask Steve to stop frisking him.

Then the hunk of metal just fell apart.

 _Silly me_ , Tony mused, still phasing in between consciousness. He forgot to reset the biometrics that allowed Steve to do just that – inactivate and disassemble the Iron Man suits with a single thumbprint – he had the finger pad installed in a cranny right under the suit's neck. _And damn, Steve,_ Tony chuckled sadly, the battle would've been over in a minute if Steve'd just use that to his own advantage.

Maybe Steve hadn't thought that the futurist Tony Stark would leave the backdoor open. Or maybe it just wasn't righteous.

Steve worked on the suit, flaying it from the man underneath. His movements had the lightest tinge of franticness in them, no longer fuelled by silent fury. The pressure on his chest was lifting and Tony blinked hard. With arduous effort his vision swam into acceptable focus and there Steve was, peering down on him.

"Oh God," the soft whisper erupted from his lips. "Help." Tony heard that. He wondered who Steve was asking for. "Help! Please!"

Tony coughed weakly and finally managed to dislodge whatever that was clogging his airway. It dribbled down his chin and at once, Steve positioned himself to kneel by Tony's head.

"Hey, stay with me. I'm getting you out of here, OK?"

Steve hadn't spoken to him like that in ages. Things sort of quieted down after he retired from active Avengers duty. He had a company to run, Pepper to go home to – and Steve just kept doing what he does best. Hell hadn't frozen over their friendship of course, but _yeah_ , Tony sighed, he missed those moments.

"Help, please! We need emergency evac and med support!"

Steve alternated between shouting at empty spaces and muttering words of comfort.

"Steve…"

"It's OK. I got you –"

"No," Tony gasped, "go. They'll come."

"I know. We're getting you help."

"They'll arrest you."

This time, Tony felt the warm hand settle lightly on his collarbone.

"I'm going home with you, Tony."

Heavy footsteps hammered on concrete floor. The din got louder as the Cape Killers encroached and not a moment too soon, they filed meticulously into the chamber. When Steve was wrested away from him – those warm hands leaving his shoulders – Tony eagerly surrendered to the inevitable.

* * *

There was a time when Steve ended up bound in cables after a boringly long battle with a villain – if he could even qualify to be called as such. The Avengers were called in because the threat he _claimed_ to present was nigh surmountable. Bombs, if he remembered correctly, fused to some biological agent that would eat the very flesh off the bones. Frankly Tony felt embarrassed on the Avengers' behalf for failing to wrap up the entire fiasco in under ten minutes – as it should be – because one thing led to another, and he really didn't want to bring up that noodle incident, it ended up with Captain America getting all tangled in cables.

He'd laughed as he freed a _very_ disgruntled Steve.

Tony woke up with that very memory playing in his mind. He wasn't surprised to see Steve seated to his immediate left, sitting somewhat hunched in a rather uncomfortable looking plastic chair. He was used to waking up to Steve from this angle – him on a gurney or a hospital bed with Steve waiting up on him – so he did the next thing he usually do.

He smiled.

"G'morning, Cap."

It came out raspier than intended.

Steve smiled, too. "Hey."

That was when Tony realised the thick black cuffs locked around Steve's wrists and ankles. His stooped posture made it seem as if the accessories were far too heavy for even the super soldier to manage, which was utterly ridiculous. Tony couldn't deny that surge of anger as he took in those details and raised himself up, only to realise that he'd been sedated to hell and could now barely wriggle his toes.

"It's fine, Tony. Just a little… precaution. I would, you know, get you something to drink but," he raised his arms from where they were resting on his knees, just a mere inch above, "these strength dampeners are pretty effective." He smiled some more, the edge of his eyes wrinkled as he did. "StarkTech. Says here near the hinge."

"Shit… Steve, I swear, I didn't mean for it to be used –"

"I know. I'm not holding this against you. And that was a good tactic, what you told that kid from Queens."

"Spider-Man?"

"That what he calls himself? Fair enough. He was great. 'Aim for the legs!' That was clever."

"After having you drop my ass on the mat a thousand times, you'd think I'd _not_ run a combat simulation to study your moves?"

"You had your computers do that?"

Tony looked away abashed. "It was uh, expedient to my learning."

They let the minute pass in comfortable silence.

"Bucky escaped."

If Tony was crossed at the announcement, he didn't show it. He sat so uncannily still that Steve wondered if he'd fallen asleep again.

"Then why are you here?" he finally managed to ask.

"To make sure you're OK." Steve smiled again, but quickly dropped his gaze to his knees. "My hearing starts next week. We've talked –"

"Talked with who?"

"Legal. We've agreed that the best way to go about this is to put out all the evidences that we have to convince the jury that Bucky is innocent of whatever Zemo had implicated him with. And I know my actions will have consequences, so I'm here to face them."

"Drop your lawyers. I'm appointing new ones for you. Some of the very best, most trusted men and women I've ever worked with. They'll –"

"It's all right, Tony."

By now Steve's expression was wearied, like the burden on his shoulders were finally weighing down on him. Tony faltered. This wasn't Captain America at all. The Captain he knew never surrendered, never gave up. Steve looked so _defeated_ it pained _him_ to have to see this that if he had to bleed all over again for a chance to set things right, he would.

There was a sudden rap on the door and both men turned to it. A helmetless Cape Killer stood by it and cocked his head, arrogantly motioning for Steve to get out.

"Guess visiting time is over," the super soldier quipped as he rose to his feet. There was a swagger to his stance and Tony started, already ready to support him should he fall, just like old times.

"You're a good man, Tony. And despite all the back and forth between us, I want you to know that I come here in peace, and think what you may, but I don't resent you. And that's the truth. But I just need to ask you, brother," and Steve looked over his shoulder. " _Was it worth it?_ "

As Tony lay in bed that night – company-less because Ross didn't allow visitors for him just yet – he quietly wished that Steve had told him instead how much he'd hated his guts and if only he'd never gotten into the decade-old partnership in the first place because then maybe, just maybe, it'd ease this pain that was gripping his heart.

Then he wouldn't have to squash his face into his pillows to hide away his tears.

* * *

"Meals are at 8 and 5, toilet breaks twice a day. You raise your voice? Zap. Tap on the glass? Zap. You step out of line and you deal with me, so please, step out of line."

There was only one box like this made in the whole wide world to contain the Winter Soldier. Apparently it wasn't made _good enough_ because that very Soldier managed to punch his way out of it. It was embarrassing. But the crew had time to redeem themselves. Ross gave the Cape Killers and Iron Man 36 hours to bring him back. So that was also how much they had for reparation and God permits, upgrades. But what they got instead was a non-enhanced human locked up in a _very_ enhanced box.

They weren't going to complain.

"There's no glory in this, you understand? Nothing's changed. You lost. All your targets are still alive and accounted for and the Avengers is still whole."

Very slowly, Zemo lifted his chin and glowered at Everett. His parched lips parted and his voice was but a whisper, but they both heard it all the same.

" _Is it?_ "

* * *

Why would anyone bother to show up at all? The summer heat was almost unbearable. Tony wouldn't believe that that any sane human being would want to be jammed into each other's personal space with everyone sweating it out like it was the sauna – until today. At least he was provided a nice private gazebo – temporarily set up for this very purpose – though it didn't shelter him from the temperature at all.

Steve was supposed to be here around now. The hearing was scheduled to begin in two hours but the perimeter of the courthouse's yard was already brimming with civilians. Cameras and placards abound, Tony didn't bother making out the words and shouting – their expression was clear as the sweltering day. They all believed Steve Rogers was guilty.

 _Just like that_ , Tony lamented. Just one incident at Lagos and that stupid decision to stick up for Barnes had costed Steve the very virtues he had laid his life fighting for – liberty, justice. Captain America was going to spend a chunk of his serum-prolonged life-span incarcerated, with this… _stain_ a permanent taint on a lifetime's worth of heroism.

Just as Tony was about to uncap his complimentary water bottle, a black sedan with heavily tinted windows pulled up right before the courthouse's steps. Two Cape Killers emerged, decked in their full regalia. He assumed those big guns they were totting were either triple-safe locked or unloaded at all. So if this was an attempt at an impactful entrance, Tony ceded, it was working. One of them reached into the car again and hoisted something – someone – out. They made Steve put on his Captain America costume sans the cowl, and Tony disliked the still present hunch in his posture. It didn't take long to spot Ross standing oh so smugly at the top of the steps, looking down at Steve as he traipsed up to the door.

Why was there a need to parade Steve in the first place? It would've been far simpler if they went with a conventional court martial instead. Was the shaming meant to stroke someone's – Ross' – ego? Was there a message to be hammered home?

 _This is what befalls those who take matters into their own hands, believing the long arm of the law will never reach them, and ye be warned; no man, no superhero, is to ever rise above it. Not even Captain America._

Be that as it may, Steve wouldn't have to go it alone.

Tony vaulted himself over the barricade and bodily shove himself through the crowd. He ignored all the insults – because he was such a charming persona amongst the public – and elbowing and even that slap at the back of his head. All he saw was Steve, and before he could stop himself, he called out for him.

Steve actually turned back and in that fleeting second, his eyes met Tony's.

Before Tony could take another step further, Steve had shouldered his chaperone aside and his torso lurched with the impact. Crimson droplets splattered onto the steps.

Then it was chaos like Tony had ever seen.

Gunshots were coming in from _somewhere_ , he had no eyes to tell him more. As if on cue, his earpiece clicked. "Mr Stark," Vision's oddly cool voice greeted, "threats have been sighted on level 7 on the opposite block."

Tony finally made it to Steve's side.

"Neutralise them."

"Yes, Mr Stark."

Steve was lying haplessly on his side, bleeding out to the cold, gray ground. His hands were still painfully locked away behind his back as he curled into himself.

"Oh God… Steve?"

Tony smoothed a hand over Steve's clammy forehead.

Just last week Steve was sitting beside his bed.

"You can't – no, please…"

And not too long ago Steve was walking up the stairs fuelled with sheer determination because who was kidding? He designed those strength dampeners himself. No mere mortal could even _stand upright_ if shackled to it. But whoever said Steve was such?

"Please, Steve…"

Tony didn't know what to do. Shakily he pressed onto the bullet wounds on Steve's stomach. He cringed as he felt hotness spill from the puncture.

"Help! Please! Medic! We need – get us a medic please!"

It took too long, way too long for those people in white with a stretcher to finally make an appearance. As the seconds ebb away Steve watched Tony meekly, and Tony took great solace in that because he could see despite facing looming death, Steve was still trying his fucking best to _console_ Tony. When the restrains were finally disassembled, Steve swallowed thickly, shuddered, and sought out Tony's very bloodied hand.

"Tony," he rasped. "There's no one else I'd trust with this. Bucky is lost and alone. Please… guide him, help him find his way. I owe him that much." His eyes seemed to flutter and Tony scrabbled at his chest, trying to bring him back. "I'm sorry it has to end this way."

"End?" Tony felt a tug in his heart when Steve's hand go lax in his grip. He brusquely readjusted his hold, refusing to believe that he'd lost the most important person in his life. "Nothing's ending, Steve! No, no, this isn't happening – wake up, you selfish son of a bitch, I'm not letting you –"

"Mr Stark, please –"

"Don't touch me! Let me go – Steve –"

When all the dust and disarray had settled, there was only Tony sitting on the bloodied steps of the courthouse and Vision hovering just within reach behind him. In place of the iron barricades to keep people out, there were yellow police tapes and a SWAT truck in plain view. Ross was nowhere to be seen.

It was just him and Vision.

* * *

Helen Cho headed the medical team assigned to Steve's case. For that, Tony heaved a short sigh of relief. But maybe because it was Steve after all that they were dealing with – the one and only super soldier ever created and all that science fiction fine print – the prognosis was neither comforting nor devastating.

"We've placed Captain Rogers under induced coma. For reasons we still don't know, he cannot wake although he is physically able to. But he is definitely not dead – at least, not in the rudimentary sense. We're not sure what to do except to monitor him –"

"Monitor him how long?" Tony remembered asking.

"We don't know."

T'Challa offered his assistance – the entire Wakandan troop of elite scientists and physicians at Steve's service – and Tony said OK. He wasn't sure if keeping Steve in limbo was Steve's idea of being at peace but if there was a chance of a chance that he could bring Steve back, he would scour every inch of the universe for it.

Tony watched Steve sleep on as the ice coffin form around him. Then he gave his thanks to T'Challa and the on-duty staff, and pulled a chair right beside Steve's cryopreserved form and sat in it. Call it grief, or remorse, or whatever – Tony didn't care for proper nouns. He leaned into the coffin – no, it was a fucking _life-support cradle_ – and let his forehead rest on the cool surface. This was irony at its best. Eight years ago he helped rescue and revive Steve Rogers from the ice. He gave Steve a family and a home. Or was it the other way round? And with his own two hands he banished Steve to the cold again. The story of America's icon of liberty, justice and hope, the Fallen Son, had finally come full circle.

Tony only left Steve's side because Ross called him to come back to work 23 times on the phone. Before he walked out the door, he dimmed the lights – not that it mattered, Steve wasn't going to wake up lights or not – and promised to return the same day next month.

Tony had spent the entire morning fielding questions from the press about the Avengers _not showing face_ at Moscow despite being called in to handle a suspected WMD to be set off at the airport. He regurgitated the same banal justifications (excuses) that Ross gave him when he requested (shouted) over the phone for permission to go to Moscow; threat not certified, regional inland security's jurisdiction not the Avengers', excuses and polished diplomatic turd all round. Just when he thought the ordeal was over, Ross called him back half an hour later saying he's green-lighting superheroes' involvement. Tony had to go on record again, backpedalled and agreed that _now_ sufficient evidence had emerged to implicate surviving HYDRA factions that necessitate the Avengers involvement. _Meeting's over, fellas, now help is on the way!_

So Tony was extremely grateful to be finally left to his own device at five in the morning. His stomach rumbled – speaking of which he was starting to miss Thor – but all hankering for breakfast was erased when he saw an inconspicuous package sitting on his table. It was addressed to one "Mr Tony Stank" – or maybe that was his low blood sugar talking – and he unwrapped it without care.

The parcel held a single VCR tape. Who used tapes anymore?

It took him only half an hour to extract the content and convert it to a playable format. The clip was only five minutes long, and it took Tony another five minutes to completely thrash his office, leaving not a single inch of the space untouched.

His knuckles were bleeding where he'd foolishly decided to punch through the glass window.

It took him another five hours to patch himself up and dry his red-rimmed eyes.

* * *

As promised exactly a month ago, Tony was back by Steve's side.

T'Challa dropped by a while back to pass him a thin, black folder. It looked like the Wakandan scientists were making progress after all. They suspected the bullets that Steve was hit with were special (no kidding!), laced with some form of toxin that impeded the serum's healing property, rendering him neither dead nor truly alive. But at least now they had a head start in developing a cure.

Tony's throat was tight and for a very rare minute there, he didn't know what to say. So he nodded and hugged T'Challa in gratitude.

And that sufficed.

For a long hour Tony sat in his usual chair and watched the ice that engulfed Steve. He hummed to himself and shook his ankles when he had the sudden urge to move or speak. Then he started picking at the cuticles of his fingernails.

He thought he could finally say it out loud.

"Zemo sent me something. Actually his name wasn't on it, but I couldn't think of anyone else that could."

Steve remained resolutely still.

"It was a tape dated December 16, 1991. I actually thought it was staged, you know. How come the murder take place so conveniently in front of a CCTV, just the right angle, the right volume and words… oh yeah, it was a snuff film all right. Of Mom and Dad."

He leaned into the coffin – no, _life-support cradle for God's sake_. The cooling sensation on his skin was always so comforting. By being so close to it he could trick himself into thinking that Steve could reach him, could console him from inside.

"It wasn't a car accident, Steve. It was an assassination. By HYDRA. By your pal, Barnes. You know, the man you asked me to find and protect?

"I wonder if you know all these, Steve.

"Strange thing is, I'm not even angry. I know I should be. But God… I am just _so, very_ tired. Of revenge. Of doing the right thing."

Tony cupped his face with his hand. Once it started, he couldn't stop it, so he let the tears fall. Steve wouldn't judge him, no he wouldn't, even after all that'd been said and done, that had ended with them in this chamber, Steve in the coffin and Tony alone to pick up the pieces.

Tony finally looked up and gazed into Steve's serene visage. The coldness of the ice never did touch him. He smiled, remembering all the times they'd spent together as brother in arms. Tony scrunched his eyes then, because that was all there was to it – mere memories.

He knew now what he should've told Steve.

"It wasn't worth it," he whispered.


End file.
